From Stow-on-the Wold, (Where the wind blows cold)
Fosse Way to Lower Slaughter,
At The Coach and Horses, take a left,
Into Bourton-on-the water.
How I recall a Christmas time,
In that pretty Cotswolds quarter.
Where the sparkling river Windrush flows,
Through Bourton-on-the Water.
It’s very dear of heart to me,
More so than bricks and mortar.
And Christmas always sends me back,
To Bourton-on-the Water.
Quaint bridges span the silver stream,
Where children stand and loiter,
To see the mid-stream Christmas tree,
In Bourton-on-the Water.
I gave my love a Christmas rose,
And the diamond ring I’d bought her,
On a clear and frosty Christmas Eve,
At Bourton-on-the Water.
That was several years ago.
Now we have a son and daughter,
Who giggle at my Christmas tale,
Of Bourton-on-the Water.
So we’re going to take our Christmas trip,
A Noël reconnoitre,
To that handsome little Cotswolds town,
Sweet Bourton-on-the Water.